


Shield and Sword

by yoshizora



Series: Pre-Flamebringer [5]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag is wounded. Brighid questions her motives.





	Shield and Sword

**Author's Note:**

> some basic pre-canon moraghid to start off the week
> 
> \-- also it's the 69th moraghid fic on ao3 AYYYYYYY

She’s _furious._ Rightfully so, she would say, pointedly ignoring Mòrag’s weak attempts at explaining herself in between her wincing and shudders of pain. The healer reminds her again and again that she should be resting, until he insists that Brighid leave the infirmary— because Mòrag clearly isn’t going to settle down with her there.

It’s her fault too, is it? She could almost laugh at that.

“No—“ Mòrag says, lifting an arm in protest. “Let her stay.”

“You need to rest, Lady Mòrag. I’m not—“

“Actually, Brighid, I _order_ you to stay.”

A silent tension washes over the room at the unexpected command, and the healer and his Blade look between them uneasily. Mòrag turns to him. “Leave us, please. You’ve done plenty enough for my wound already, thank you.”

They’re quiet as the healer and his Blade reluctantly leave, and quiet some more as Mòrag struggles to put her words together properly. Sweat plasters her hair to her forehead, and she looks so small without her uniform and armor; it’s such a pitiful state for the young Special Inquisitor, but Brighid can only feel that— pity, within her chest.

It’s not a pleasant sentiment. She shouldn’t _pity_ her Driver. Mòrag shifts in the bed, and Brighid automatically moves to her side to help her sit up, adjusting the pillows for her.

“I didn’t think you would ever abuse your command over me in such a way,” she coldly says.

Mòrag’s eyes cast downwards, to the pristinely white sheets that lay crumpled upon her lap. “I won’t do that again.”

Brighid frightens her at times, admittedly. She would never say so out loud, because what kind of Driver fears their own Blade? But just when she had thought she was making progress with Brighid, this… happened.

The freshly sealed wound throbs with the memory of piercing steel. It will probably leave a scar upon her chest in spite of the healers’ efforts.

Then, a bit more softly, Brighid says, “I’ll be eternally grateful that it was nothing fatal.”

She places a hand over Mòrag’s.

“However, it seems that you still haven’t quite grasped the intended dynamic between a Driver and Blade. It’s _my_ job to protect _you_ , Lady Mòrag. Why would you try to shield me with your own body?” Roughly, but somewhat affectionately, she caresses Mòrag’s cheek. Mòrag closes her eyes and leans into the warm touch. “… You fool.”

“It was instinct.”

“Instinct?”

“To protect you.”

But she’s still a fool, nonetheless. Brighid simply sighs and shakes her head, rubbing her cheek with her thumb.

“I believe I realized, that… you protect me, because your own life is on the line as well. If I die, you will.” Brighid’s hand drops, and Mòrag opens her eyes with a small frown. “It’s self-preservation as much as it is your innate drive to be my shield, isn’t it?”

She says it so matter-of-factly. Too matter-of-factly.

“Therefore, it was selfish of me to put my life on the line so brazenly like that. I’m sorry, Brighid.”

No, she’s wrong.

It isn’t about roundabout self-preservation or her instincts as a Blade. Surely it couldn’t be. She remembers the sheer terror striking her numb as she watched that Driver’s sword pierce through Mòrag’s chest— her silent scream, as she fell in her own blood, the chaos of the battle with all its gunshots and metal clanging and men shouting drowning out Mòrag’s hoarse whispers as Brighid desperately tried to staunch the bleeding.

For a moment suspended in forever as Mòrag bled in her arms, Brighid thought she would die.

But… was that terror meant for Mòrag’s life, or her own?

Both, she firmly tells herself. For both her own life and her Driver’s. There’s nothing wrong with being so concerned for her own life. No. She doesn’t realize how enraged her expression must be until Mòrag apologizes again, this time more pleadingly.

She takes a deep breath, calming her flames.

“Are you really calling yourself selfish for protecting me? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” Somehow, she manages to crack a rather dry smile. Mòrag, however, is still completely solemn.

“Yes.”

“You’re _not_.” She chokes. “I would have regenerated from the wound, but…”

“… But you would still feel the pain,” Mòrag finishes. “How could I ever let you endure that, Brighid?”

She’s selfless. Perhaps too selfless, even, unable to see what’s wrong with throwing herself in front of sharp swords for the sake of others without a second thought. It borders on recklessness, but at the same time, Brighid can understand Mòrag's refusal to listen to hesitance when a split second could make all the different in the world. 

“You’ve spent your entire life training to become a shield for others,” Brighid says, recalling something Niall had told her not long after her resonance with Mòrag. “It’s about time you let someone else protect you for once, Lady Mòrag. I am your sword _and_ shield. Always remember that.”

Mòrag slowly nods, but then shakes her head.

“We protect each other. I believe that’s how it should be.”

Brighid's shoulders heave once with a short laugh. "You would be my shield and sword, as well?"

"As I said, that's how it should be."

This _fool_. Brighid can only weakly smile at that frank bit of sentiment and allows Mòrag to take her hand, their fingers interlocking. They’re reaching a deeper understanding at last, the kind of bond that only the closest Drivers and Blades could ever hope to experience. She allows their affinity link to activate, warming them both with their shared ether. The aura shines gold already.

“Next time, I’ll be more quick about conjuring a barrier.”

“Next time, I won’t put both our lives at risk.”

The promises don’t weigh quite the same, but it’s good enough for both of them. She helps Mòrag lay back down and continues to hold her hand, even after she falls asleep.

And Brighid realizes, finally, that she had been so frightened because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Mòrag. It was as simple as that.


End file.
